


Studying Home

by virdant



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Divergence - Order 66, Everybody Lives, Gen, Jedi Culture & Tradition (Star Wars), M/M, no order 66
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26950072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virdant/pseuds/virdant
Summary: Obi-Wan aches—has ached, will always ache—for peace. He yearns for it.He yearns to return to the days where guests came to the Temple to study their Archives. He yearns to wander the halls and be greeted not just by his brothers and sisters, his cousins and uncles and aunts, his nephew and nieces in the force. He yearns to see visiting scholars wandering their Archives, to see artists studying their statutes, to see doctors in their Halls of Healing sharing in knowledge and care.Soon, he hopes, he knows. Soon, they will return to it.--A No-Order-66 AU, where after the war, the Jedi return to their roots: to the Temple, to teaching and learning, to family.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 20
Kudos: 459
Collections: Jedi-Friendly, The Temple Archives





	Studying Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Margan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Margan/gifts).



> margan had all of this lovely world-building about the jedi temple, so i said "okay i will write you a scribble," but the scribble ended up being a bit too long to copy-paste in chat so here it is on ao3.

The Temple feels empty, after the war.

As the Jedi return, they take up space again, filling the Temple with their presence. But there are so many of them dead and gone, and the hallways are quiet and still. It is not enough that the war is over and won. They have lost so much. Brothers and sisters, cousins and uncles and aunts, nephews and nieces—every Jedi feels the sharp loss of the branches of their lineage tree.

Obi-Wan returns to the Temple after the war, like all of the other Jedi. He stands in the rooms he once shared with Anakin. It is immaculate, kept dust free from the droids, but it is no longer a home. He has spent more time on the Negotiator, more time flying from battle to battle, than he has in the Temple. 

But the war is over. The temple is empty.

But not for long.

* * *

The Temple has always been a bastion of knowledge. Jedi and non-Jedi alike flocked to its halls. Master Yoda had spent many hours being interviewed by historians and philosophers alike, before the war.

It will take time, Obi-Wan knows, to return to what life at the Temple was like before the war. He can still hear the roar of death when he closes his eyes. He can still feel exhaustion deep in his bones. When he dreams, he dreams of blood on his hands.

But the war is over, and they have a chance, now, to return to peace. To return to teaching and learning instead of leading and dying. To return to aid instead of strife. Every battle had seared its way into the Jedi, every shot fired, every blow made. The war has done more than murder Jedi and Troops on the battlefield. The war has branded its mark deep in their souls.

Obi-Wan aches—has ached, will always ache—for peace. He yearns for it.

He yearns to return to the days where guests came to the Temple to study their Archives. He yearns to wander the halls and be greeted not just by his brothers and sisters, his cousins and uncles and aunts, his nephew and nieces in the force. He yearns to see visiting scholars wandering their Archives, to see artists studying their statutes, to see doctors in their Halls of Healing sharing in knowledge and care.

Soon, he hopes, he knows. Soon, they will return to it.

* * *

The troops are homeless, after the war, and the Temple has space to spare.

It is not a debate, among Council members. Let them come, if they wish, they all agree. Let them stay with us. Let them become scholars who will wander our Archives. Let them become artists who study our art. Let them become doctors who will share in the burden of our Healers.

And, they say: let them be teachers to our children. Let them be guides to our young. Let them join in our family, not to replace those that died, but in inosculation, so that the branches of their lineage may join with ours, and that we may both grow stronger for it.

Let them come, they say. We will take all who wish to stay.

* * *

Cody comes. He stays. Others among the 212th come and stay. They become scholars and artists and healers. They become teachers and caretakers. They put down the arms that they held so tightly during the war and pick up books and paintbrushes and children instead. They work with the crechemasters and the archivists. They teach alongside the Jedi teachers, work with them to teach the younglings their letters and numbers, to navigate among the stars. The temple has always been home to Jedi and non-Jedi alike, working to teach and learn, and the troops, as they set aside war for peace, fit in like a missing piece of a puzzle.

Obi-Wan is no longer a general. He teaches the younglings how to play Push Feather, leads groups of padawans in morning meditation. He takes tea in the alcoves with other Knights and Masters, soaking in light and warmth together. The Galaxy still aches, from the war, but it is healing, slowly.

Sometimes, Obi-Wan and Cody sit and drink tea together. Cody has chosen to spend his time in classes, learning what he can. They talk about his classes sometimes. They talk about the younglings that Cody watches over: the clans with young clones and young Jedi both. They talk about Obi-Wan’s meditation sessions and the lessons that he teaches.

Cody says, “Will you take another padawan?”

Obi-Wan says, “Perhaps. As the Force wills.”

* * *

Master Yoda says, “A padawan, thinking of, are you?”

“Not one in particular, Master,” Obi-Wan says. But he aches to teach. It is an honor, to pass knowledge on to the younger generation. He sometimes feels as though he is overflowing with thoughts and worries, and that he needs only to distill them to simple lessons that he can share.

“Hmmm,” he says. “Look for you, I will.”

“You don’t need to, Master,” Obi-Wan demurs.

But he knows Master Yoda will look. It was one of Master Yoda’s greatest joys, before the war. He loved finding teachers for the younglings, loved seeing them learn and grow under careful mentorship. He has always loved every youngling as his own, always wanted to seem them flourish and grow.

He knows that Master Yoda will look. He knows, and a part of him settles at the knowledge that he is not out on the front, alone. He is back at the Temple, surrounded by his family, bolstered by their strength and care.

* * *

Cody comes to his rooms. Sits and drinks tea. Says, “Will you have me, if I stay?”

“I already have,” Obi-Wan says. The Jedi have let the troops into their home already. They have let the clones stand as a bastion at their back, have allowed their lives to twine. Like thin threads so fragile until they are bound together, there has never been any question.

Cody nods. He begins to prepare tea. The rooms are silent, but it is not the stillness of an empty Temple, but the silence of those who do not need to talk to communicate. Cody prepares the tea and sets it between them, and they pour and drink.

When they finish their tea, they wash the dishes, side by side, so close that their shoulders press together. They go to the refectory to eat latemeal, sitting among Obi-Wan’s crechemates and Cody’s batchmates—sharing and serving from platters of food prepared by Jedi and clones and non-Jedi alike. They spend hours in the refectory, even after the food has been cleared away, mingling among their brothers and sisters and cousins and uncles and aunts.

They no longer need to stay awake when they are tired, so they retire back to the rooms that Obi-Wan once shared with Anakin, the rooms that he will share with his new padawan. They lie down together, and Obi-Wan takes Cody’s hand in his, lets their palms press against each other the way their shoulders did. Twines their fingers together as if they were threads. 

When Obi-Wan inhales, Cody exhales to finish the breath. When Cody inhales, Obi-Wan exhales. It is a cycle, over and over, the two of their hearts settling into the slow beat of sleep.

* * *

His rooms are not empty, after the war.

He takes a new padawan that Master Yoda introduces him to, a Jawa named Xi’ri, who fills the rooms with bits and bobs and chatters brightly in Jawaese. He surrounds himself with his family: the Jedi he grew up with, the troops who have bound themselves to them, the non-Jedi who have always been around, passing through and lingering.

And Cody stays, a steady warmth at his back throughout it all. 

He returned to the Temple after the war, for where else would he go? The Temple has always been his home. This is the land he set his roots in, that he grew steadfast and strong in. But the Temple is more than just empty halls. It has always been.

The war is over, and Obi-Wan walks through the halls of the Temple. The Archives are full of the whispering murmurs of scholars studying: Jedi, clones, visitors. The creche is full of teachers corralling younglings: Force-sensitive and non-Force-sensitive alike. The halls are filled with artists, some with faces identical to each other, some from beyond Coruscant, studying the art that the Jedi have collected for generations. The Halls are full of doctors and healers, serving the sick.

And Obi-Wan teaches.

He fills his room with the sound of laughter and learning. He fills the Temple with Light.

The war is over, now.

**Author's Note:**

> want to yell about jedi culture with me? here's how you can find me:
> 
>   * find me in salt town
>   * Follow me on twitter [@virdant](http://www.twitter.com/virdant/)
>   * [Like & retweet on twitter](https://twitter.com/virdant/status/1315291291501043713)
>   * Comment and kudo below
> 



End file.
